She makes a real effort with the character of the ten victims – the only one who seems rather one-note is the first victim, the only one who really seems to be asking for his fate – and I found myself really caring about the fate of at least one of the characters. It’s a daringly different style of book from her, and it works a treat, mostly.

This is often up there as one of Christie’s masterpieces, and I can see why. So I came to it with an idea of the plot structure, a spoiled part of the killer’s MO, but no knowledge of the killer themselves. And so I didn’t read it then and for whatever reason, only came back to it over thirty years later. My sister read it a long time ago and I remember her telling me something of the basic plot – including something rather crucial. I know, it’s a bit ridiculous, but I’ve never read it before. So, where were we? Oh, yes, Ten Little N… I mean, And Then There Were None. They will be coming soon, but I felt that I wouldn’t give them a fair crack of the whip if I read them while feeling as under the weather as I do right now.

Not that I’d prefer something major, obviously…Īs such, I’ve been reading less than usual and have reverted to guaranteed easy reads – apologies to the authors who are awaiting reviews for books sent to me. Sorry for the relatively long absence – the Puzzlies might end up being a rather short list this month – but I’ve been plagued by a number of irritatingly minor but distracting medical issues over the last couple of weeks. Not only is it the original title (and the original poem) but the picture itself is stunningly inappropriate – it’s the Fontana paperback edition, if you want to look it up. Do I dare put the image of the edition that I just read? No, I don’t think so. And the first death occurs – Anthony Marston chokes to death, just as the rhyme predicted… “Ten Little Soldier Boys went out to dine, One choked his little self and then there were nine.”Īt dinner, a recording plays, accusing everyone in the room of being a murderer who has escaped justice. On entering their rooms, they each find a framed copy of an old children’s nursery rhyme. The host, a Mr U N Owen, is nowhere to be found. On a small island off the coast of Devon, ten people have been summoned, each lured there by a different enticement.

And then there were none ten little